


Convergence

by franticatlantic



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, M/M, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8450110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franticatlantic/pseuds/franticatlantic
Summary: Josh is a boxer. Tyler is his physical therapist.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is for ana, who asked for josh as a boxer.

_Tyler,_   
_Josh’s fight today has been rescheduled to 3 PM. The bastards in charge thought it’d be funny to switch the schedule around on us, so I need you at the gym ASAP. Don’t bother with all your equipment - just bring the necessities._

_Mark_

-

White tape peeled away to reveal splotchy purple skin, a ring of bruises around Josh’s knuckles and the tops of his fingers. He stood stock still, letting Mark tend to him, with a dribble of blood cascading down his chin.

Surrounded by the monoliths of lockers, Tyler shifted. On the windowsill, where it could catch the sunlight and reflect cool fans of blue light onto the walls, was a police car bubble. The walls were littered with posters, some very old, but most new. Calling the public to fights, proclaiming the winners of those fights, all contestants members of this very gym.

A breeding ground for champions.

Josh Dun was one such champion.

“Fuck!” Josh swung around and threw his fist into the nearest locker, denting the front without so much as a wince.

Tyler felt like he’d seen that happen to someone’s skull once before in a horror movie. The light glinted off the dented-in sides of the locker, turning its normal navy blue to a light teal. When Tyler stood, it turned back to normal.

“Why are you freaking out?” He asked, shoulders popping in a shrug. “You won.”

Faster than he’d sent his fist into the locker door, Josh rounded on Tyler. “Don’t you _dare_ fucking pander to me, kid. You were the one who was an hour late.”

The blood running down his chin made Josh look like a vampire. Or a half-crazed boxer.

“I got Mark’s email 20 minutes before the fight started,” Tyler said slowly, as though explaining something to a temper tantrum-prone toddler. “There was no way I could make it across town in 20 fucking minutes.”

“Maybe you should find yourself a new job, then.”

Tyler didn’t quail under Josh’s gaze, but the suggestion made his eye twitch. He had worked hard for this job.

Mark spread his hands in a peacemaking gesture. “Josh, really. The officials fucked us - _tried_ to fuck us - you can’t put that on Tyler.”

“Everyone just fucking shut the fuck up.” Josh pressed the fingers of his bruised hand to his nose and breathed deeply. He took a step away from Tyler and then another and Tyler felt safe enough to let himself sag a little.

“It was a messy fucking win,” Josh continued, and still the blood continued to drip down his chin. “Shouldn’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” Mark said, and from the look on his face Tyler could tell he was just trying to put Josh at ease. “Tyler?”

With a roll of his eyes, Tyler crossed his arms. “Yeah, I’ll be on time from now on.”

Josh said nothing, just sat on an open bench and ran his hands through his red hair.

A sigh from Mark as he left the locker room, a sort of swinging step to his gait - the match officiators had tried and failed to screw Josh Dun out of his six - now seven - match win streak, but had failed. And though Josh was upset about exactly how he’d won, Tyler knew what Mark was thinking: a win was a win was a win.

Tyler himself had arrived during the last few minutes of the match, tearing his jacket off as he rushed to the side of the ring and watched Josh spit a long, unbroken stream of blood from between his teeth. Josh’s opponent had gone down with a swift upper hook and as the bell clanged, the ref had held Josh’s formidable arm up and declared him the winner.

It was only after Josh’s team was in the safety of the locker room that he’d let loose and lost his mind.

Having not had the chance to do much of anything before Josh’s tirade, Tyler now went to his bag and hefted a towel, a bottle of water, a small bucket, and an icepack from it. Might as well work for his paycheck.

Not wanting to send Josh into another fit of hysterics, Tyler shuffled slowly over to the man’s hunched form. “Hey.”

Josh jerked and looked up at him through slanted eyes.

Tyler took a seat beside him, hefting the towel. “Here, you’re-“

As quick as his punches out in the ring, Josh’s hand came up and caught Tyler’s wrist, crushing his carpals. “You’re _bleeding_ ,” Tyler explained, once more with that patient tone one might use when speaking to a child.

Josh glanced down, as if just noticing the blood dripping from his chin and pooling on his shorts. He released Tyler’s hand and Tyler flexed it, trying to get feeling back.

“Nice right hook, slugger,” Tyler chortled, scraping the blood from Josh’s chin.

Josh said nothing, dark eyes fixed on Tyler.

Hefting the water bottle, Tyler said, “Open.”

Bright white teeth laced with blood greeted Tyler when Josh opened his mouth and, trying not to grimace, Tyler squirted a stream of water onto Josh’s tongue. Some splashed out and onto the front of Josh’s bare chest, dribbling downwards. But most Josh caught with a quick snap of his mouth, swilling it around.

Tyler raised the bucket. “Spit.”

Josh bent his head and did so, a pink spitty mess hitting the bottom of the bucket with a splat.

Some caught on Josh’s lower lip and Tyler reached out to brush this away too, but Josh stopped him with a hand on his wrist again, gentler this time. Not so much crushing of the carpals.

Josh’s tongue darted out to clean the mess from his lip instead.

Tyler laughed. “Kinda gross, bro.”

Again, Josh gave no answer. His hand slid from Tyler’s wrist.

As the sun began to slip below the horizon, Tyler began his customary after-fight inspection of Josh, fingers poking and prodding and sliding along the smooth marble of Josh’s skin, waiting for a sharp movement or hiss of pain. Even among the bruises blossoming along his left side and the bright red spot above his knee, there was nothing.

“Fit as a fiddle,” Tyler sighed, smoothing his hands along Josh’s shoulders.

“As always,” Josh mumbled.

A humorless laugh from Tyler as he went to pack his bag, hefting it onto his shoulder. “Look, I really am sorry I was late today. They tried to yank that shit out from under you and I’m glad they didn’t.”

Josh shrugged. “Not the first time they’ve tried to change the time of a match and make me have to forfeit.”

Grasping the strap of his duffel, Tyler chuckled. “Little do they know Josh Dun spends his life at the gym.”

There was a narrowing of Josh’s eyes, a tiny zip across the locker room between them.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that-“

“Don’t be late tomorrow.” With that, Josh stood from the bench and made his way to the showers.

Tyler wanted to call him back, to apologize further, then realized he had nothing to apologize for. He hadn’t meant anything by that - just that Josh was wholly dedicated to boxing and the only time he wasn’t at the gym was when he was home sleeping. And Tyler had his doubts he even left to do that. He probably had a little cot made up for him somewhere in the back.

After offering a helping hand to Mark in the cleaning of the ring from all the blood spilled during the match, Tyler said his goodbyes and took a cab home.

-

Tyler graduated summa cum laude from Ohio State with a degree in Biology. It took three years of an internship at Ace Medical before he gained his Doctor of Physical Therapy.

Strictly speaking, he did not work this long and this hard to wind up working for an overzealous prick like Josh Dun.

Only he wasn’t, strictly speaking. A prick, that is.

Overzealous he may be, but he was never outright rude to anyone, except for maybe the other guy in the ring with him. Those cracks about Tyler being late and finding a new job may have greatly bothered someone else, but to Tyler - who had had the pleasure of hearing much worse over the years - that was Josh compensating.

For something.

Tyler had been working with Josh and his manager, Mark Eshleman, for a little over a month now. The hours could be grueling and competitive, but Tyler was glad all his hard work in college had paid off. Literally.

He hadn’t been incredibly in debt after graduation, but even just the one month he’d spent working for the preeminent boxer in Columbus had been enough to pay them off in their entirety.

Part of him always planned to work for a basketball team - either collegiate or professional - or maybe in football. But someone had emailed him the open position for Josh’s team and Tyler had jumped at the chance. And the salary.

Josh may not have been nice or kind or even pleasant, so far as Tyler had seen, but the guy could fight. And at the rate they were going, he’d be at the championships before long.

-

The gym smelled like stale water and body odor. Tyler, currently tending to Josh’s split upper lip, didn’t mind. Actually he didn’t even register the foul smells beyond the few seconds after he walked in the door anymore.

“I get paid to do this,” Tyler told Josh after the fourth time Josh tried to push him away.

Josh gave him that same indiscernible look and let Tyler press a cloth soaked in antiseptic to his lip. Not even a flinch of pain. “You think you’d be used to this by now,” Tyler muttered.

The guy Josh was currently sparring with cleared his throat from the other side of the ring. “Goin’ soft on me, Dun?”

A grunt came from Josh’s parted lips, and Tyler gave one last scrape of the cloth over his mouth. “Get at him,” he told Josh with a wink.

Josh shoved Tyler aside with a quick, savage gesture, and was on his sparring partner in half a second. Tyler’s body hit the ropes with less force then he thought it would, the pain between his shoulder blades barely even a sting. He watched Josh parry a blow from his partner and land a hit on the guy’s lower right side.

There was a tightening in his pants that he couldn’t quite stop.

He slid between the rungs and landed on the floor with a bounce, coming around the opposite side of the ring just as Mark was entering.

Mark looked harried, flinging the doors so wide they banged against the walls and ricocheted shut once more. His hair was in disarray, like he’d been pulling terribly at it, and Tyler noticed his shirt was on inside out and backwards.

“Mark-“

“Not now, Tyler.” Mark approached the ring. “Josh.”

Josh dipped around another one of his partner’s hits and jabbed him in the nose. The guy stumbled back.

“Josh!”

With his gloves up around his face, Josh blocked another punch.

“JOSH-U-A DUN!” Mark yelled, punctuating each syllable with a hard smack of his hand down on the floor of the ring.

Josh, finally either wakened from his reverie or very annoyed with Mark, turned. As he did so, his partner finally landed a hit and Josh went down, lip reopened as blood sprayed from it and his nose.

“Goddamnit,” Tyler griped, struggling his way back under the ropes and helping Josh up.

Josh’s partner was apologizing, ripping his gloves off and holding his taped hands out. Josh batted them away with a quick flick of his arm.

Tyler grabbed Josh by both ears and tilted his face down and then back up, to both sides, and then down again. Josh watched with what Tyler would have classified as fascination, blood pouring onto his chest. “I _just_ fixed this. What the fuck, Mark?”

“I need to talk to you.” Mark pointed a finger at Josh. “Now.”

Instead of the ferocious move he’d made to get Tyler away from him earlier, Josh laid both hands gently on Tyler’s arms and pushed him slowly back. Then he reached for the towel Tyler currently had tucked into the waist of his pants, yanking it out. This made Tyler whine instinctually, his erection from before not fully gone, and turn away with a jolt.

Josh narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, swiftly, pressing the towel to his nose, and then was gone, turned toward the ropes to talk to Mark.

Tyler’s head was foggy, but he had just enough time to compose himself to hear Mark and Josh speaking in hushed tones.

“Wyatt Sullivan? That’s-“

“Yeah, I know. But he’s your next opponent.”

“How the fuck did they manage to pull this one off?”

“You know how it is, Josh. Anything to knock you off your pedestal.”

“Sullivan’s got it coming to him.”

“…you sure you can be the one to give it to him?”

Tyler turned to see Josh staring down at Mark with…hatred, maybe? Derision?

“Guys-“ Tyler got the wind knocked out of him as Josh spun and shoved both his gloves and the bloody towel into Tyler’s chest. Pain shot up one knee as he fell to it, everything tumbling from his arms and halfway across the ring.

Josh, still with a stain of brown blood marring the lower half of his face and the upper part of his chest, slid between the rungs and stalked to the locker room without another word. The door slammed shut behind him and if the place weren’t made of stone Tyler was sure many of the medals and posters would have shook from the walls.

“I can’t deal with him anymore tonight,” he wheezed as he regained his breath. “You need to check and see if he needs stitches…what’s wrong with him?”

“Wyatt Sullivan’s wrong with him.”

“Who?” Tyler skittered across the ring picking up Josh’s things he’d dropped.

“Josh’s next match.”

“So,” Tyler exhaled, gloves and towel safely back in his arms again, “Josh’ll beat his ass like he’s beat everyone else’s.”

“Tyler.” Mark glared at him. “ _Wyatt Sullivan_.”

“ _I’m not following_ ,” Tyler mimicked, making a face. “Who is that?”

Mark shook his head and made a come hither motion. “Follow me, Mr. Knows Nothing About Boxing.”

-

On the fuzzy TV screen, the man in the green shorts swayed, like a drunken sailor aboard a bobbing ship. His eyes were unfocused, hands held up by his face, but just barely.

The other man - Sullivan - who had more than 100 pounds on green shorts, stepped forward and uppercutted him. Green shorts actually left his feet, hitting the rungs and crumpling against them when he came down.

Before the gong even had a chance to ring, Sullivan put his arms up in victory, a nasty smile on his face.

Tyler recoiled from the old TV. “That’s disgusting.”

“But not technically against the rules,” Mark said, pausing the game tape. There Wyatt Sullivan stood, bruised and bloody but triumphant.

“He’s ugly,” Tyler grumbled.

A laugh from behind them and Tyler turned. There Josh Dun stood, in the open doorway of the office. He was dripping water, clean of any and all blood, a towel slung low about his waist. Someone out in the gym yelled for him to put some damn clothes on.

Ignoring this someone, Josh crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Mark doesn’t think I can beat him.”

“I never said that-“

“But you’re thinking it. And that’s okay….how about you, Tyler?”

Tyler couldn’t think because his eyes were tracking the way the fine droplets of water were slipping and sliding down over the sharp jut of Josh’s hipbones. One neat little tuck of the towel was all that was keeping the rest of Josh from sight.

“Tyler?”

“Hmmng?” Tyler blinked once, twice, his mouth no longer sure what kind of noise it was supposed to be making, only that it should be one of assent. “Hunh?”

Josh looked amused as Tyler’s gaze finally traveled up to meet it. “Do you think I can beat him?”

“I think…” Tyler wasn’t sure - Josh was an amazing fighter, but Sullivan played dirty. “…I don’t know.”

“Hm.” With a nod of his head and a sort of flick of his eyes, Josh’s smile faded and he left the office.

Mark scoffed. “Oh, so you can say you don’t think he’ll win, but he doesn’t tear _your_ head off about it.”

-

Tyler rapped softly on the metal doorframe.

“Public locker room,” came Josh’s voice from around the corner.

Swinging around, Tyler saw they were the only two here. Everyone else had packed up for the day, but Josh was re-taping his hands, looking for a go with the punching bag now that his sparring partner had left.

“You ever thought about sparring with Mark?”

Josh scoffed and gave Tyler a look like he couldn’t believe those words had just left his mouth.

“I mean, he is your trainer. He must have some experience.”

“If by _some_ you mean a couple months in the lightweight semis being a punching bag for guys two times his size.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“But true.”

Josh slammed his locker door and finished taping his knuckles, ripped the tape with his teeth and threw the roll into an athletic bag on the floor.

Tyler sighed. “Listen…I think you can beat him.”

“Mark?” Josh quirked an eyebrow and took a few steady steps toward Tyler.

“Sullivan. He fights dirty, but I think you can find a way around that, considering you have actual skill.”

Josh tilted his head, and Tyler thought he was about to say that he didn’t really give a shit what Tyler thought. Instead what he said was, “Thank you.”

“Y-You’re welcome.” With his hands flailing somewhere near his midriff, he nodded at Josh’s mouth. “How’s the lip?”

A pink tongue snaked out to prod at the mark, which was no longer bleeding. “I think it’ll be fine.”

“Good.” A pause. “Y’know, today’s the first time you’ve actually said my name.”

Josh gave a laugh; the laugh turned into a sigh which seemed fetched up from the man’s sneakers. He took another few shuffling steps forward so that he was in Tyler’s bubble. “You’re a funny guy, Tyler.”

After Josh had left, with a solid pat to Tyler’s shoulder, Tyler stood in the locker room for a long time pondering exactly what Josh had meant by that.

-

In the following week, Josh went back to saying maybe one word a day to Tyler, staring at him with those reproachful - or maybe bored - eyes every time Tyler examined him, worked out a pulled hamstring, or pressed an icepack to one of Josh’s many bruises.

One of Josh’s teeth was coming loose and it was already time for Wyatt Sullivan and his team to come for the gym inspection.

Before every fight, the opposing team could visit and spar in the ring, check out the locker rooms, and just generally make sure the gym was up to standard and also that the home team wasn’t cheating.

Josh Dun prided himself on not cheating.

Which was why, when Wyatt Sullivan was the first of his team to enter through the front entrance doors, Josh all of a sudden made himself scarce. Tyler thought he saw a flash of red heading into the locker room.

When the doors opened, a gust of chilly air blew in with it. Tyler, knelt by the side of the ring cleaning up his eighth blood splatter of the day, shivered and glanced up.

Wyatt Sullivan was a big, hulking man of 6 feet 2 inches. According to his stats online, he weighed in at 300 some pounds and had dark brown hair and light green eyes. The sunlight filtering in behind him obscured his face from view, but Tyler knew - despite what he’d said in the office that day - from the game tape he’d seen that he was handsome.

Tyler couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the expression he knew he’d find on Sullivan’s face - one of derision and appall that someone might actually train at a gym this dilapidated. All in all, Josh’s gym was pretty nice. But to Wyatt Sullivan from Cincinnati - with his own award-winning facilities - it must have seemed a little shabby.

Tyler stood and as he did, the doors closed behind the newcomers. His lips parted at the look he actually found on Sullivan’s face - one of wonder and almost boyhood amusement. It made him look years younger than he actually was.

“Holy hell,” the man muttered, and his wide-eyed gaze fell on Tyler. “This is one helluva gym you got here.”

Tyler wondered if this was a trick.

Sullivan stuck one meaty hand out to Tyler and when Tyler took it, he found it surprisingly soft, the grip not very strong. Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler saw two women and a man walking the outside of the ring with notepads, perusing and jotting things down occasionally. Lawyers, making sure the ring was up to snuff.

“I’m Tyler,” Tyler said just as Mark exited from the office. “I’m Josh’s physical therapist.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sullivan said jovially. His eyes darted behind Tyler and then back. “This really is a nice gym. I’ve never fought here before. I’ve heard stories, of course, but stories are nothing compared to the real thing.”

“Well, thanks.” Tyler blushed without really knowing why.

Mark took his place beside Tyler and stuck his hand out as well, unexpectedly rigid. Tyler tried to give him a look that said _please don’t be an asshole he actually seems kind of nice_ , but he wasn’t sure if Mark saw. “Mark Eshleman. Mister Dun’s trainer.”

Sullivan took Mark’s hand as well and grinned. “It sure is nice to meet you all. Stu, get up here and introduce yourself already.”

A man emerged from behind Wyatt Sullivan, tall and slender with horn-rimmed glasses and sandy blond hair. He was wearing a shirt with a symbol on it that Tyler didn’t recognize.

He stuck one bony hand out to Mark. “Stuart Solo.” Then to Tyler. “Wyatt’s manager.”

When Tyler took Stu’s hand, Stu tightened his grip almost painfully and Tyler winced, wondering which of these men should really be the boxer and the other the manager. “You can call me Stu.” He winked at Tyler, holding onto Tyler’s fingers for a second longer than necessary.

Tyler was glad when Stu stepped back and was largely obscured once more by Wyatt Sullivan’s hulking frame.

“Is Josh around?” Sullivan asked, eyes casting toward the far wall, then to the locker room, and back. “I’d sure love to meet him.”

Mark hummed and motioned for Sullivan to follow him. “I think I saw him around here somewhere.”

As Mark led Sullivan and two other people toward the locker room, Sullivan glanced back and gave a great big wave. “It was nice to meet you, Tyler.”

“You, too,” Tyler said, albeit weakly.

Because he was very confused and also now very alone with Stuart Solo.

Stu pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger in a gesture that very much looked like he was flipping Tyler the bird. “So. Tyler, huh? Where ya from?”

Tyler shrugged, remembered he was still holding the bloody towel from before. Without answering, he started for the laundry chute, hoping Stu would get the hint and not bother to follow.

Steady footsteps began to keep pace with him, though, and Tyler began to feel anxious.

“What, you don’t know where you’re from?” Stu asked, just as Tyler opened the chute. “Or you’re too much of a stuck up bitch to answer a simple question?”

Still with the towel clutched in hand, Tyler turned with his eyebrows drawn low. “ _What?_ ”

Stu laughed, but didn’t smile. If you can imagine such a thing. He hit Tyler on the bicep. “Lighten up, man. It was a joke.”

Tyler’s anxiety bubbled up and over, forming a thin film of cold sweat on his skin. Once again, he didn’t answer, just threw the towel down with the other dirty laundry and turned away from Stu.

There wasn’t much more for him to do right now, but he got the distinct feeling that if he started for the locker room and the company of other people something very bad might happen. So he decided the front desk would be a safe bet.

“You excited for the match?” Stu asked, this time no longer following Tyler but keeping pace beside him.

“Yeah,” Tyler choked, feeling like something was stuck in his throat.

He sidled behind the front desk, where guests weren’t allowed. This didn’t stop Stuart Solo, however. No, Stu followed him back there and as Tyler was shuffling through some papers, trying to remember how to breathe, Stu placed long, gaunt fingers over them, stilling Tyler’s movements.

“You don’t talk much,” Stu breathed. His breath smelled like rotten fruit. “I like that.”

Having had enough, Tyler turned and tried to push Stu away, but this only allowed for the taller man to pin Tyler back against the desk and get a hand on Tyler’s thigh.

“Stop-“ Tyler tried to say, but found that that was what was caught in his throat. His words, his burning desire to tell Stuart Solo to get the hell _away_ from him.

And Stu’s hand was traveling up, tips of his disgusting fingers brushing the seam of Tyler’s pants.

“Tyler.”

Stu jumped away as though electrocuted and Tyler, though he was now able to draw a steady breath, couldn’t move.

It was Josh who had spoken, now leading the party out of the locker room.

He came toward Tyler as Sullivan and his team headed for the door. Sullivan whistled and crooked a finger at Stu. “Let’s go, Stu. Tyler, it was nice to meet you!”

Tyler didn’t want to be rude (felt guilty, actually, for assuming Wyatt Sullivan would be a raging asshole in the first place), but he still couldn’t find his words.

As Stu scrambled past Josh, Tyler saw Josh’s arms tense and his jaw set. But then Stu was gone and Josh was closer to Tyler than he’d ever been before, a hand on his arm and his voice low in Tyler’s ear. “Are you okay?”

A pathetic little whimper left Tyler as he slumped, putting most of his weight on Josh. He wanted to cling to Josh, to have Josh touch him everywhere, if only because Josh was someone Stuart Solo wasn’t.

Never before had something like this happened to him and he hoped it wouldn’t ever again.

“Ain’t that something?” Mark muttered when Sullivan and his crew were completely gone.

But Tyler just stared up at Josh with damp eyes.

Josh wrapped one large arm around Tyler’s shoulders and began leading him to the back door. “Mark. I’ll be back.”

-

Tyler was in Josh’s car with his head between his knees. Years of working in the medical field had awarded him the knowledge that this was the best way to keep from passing out when you felt lightheaded. Or when you thought you might puke at any minute. Tyler felt like doing both.

He’d never seen Josh’s car before because Josh was always here before Tyler and always left after him. He knew now that it was the jet black Mustang always parked by the overpass, in the furthest spot from the gym.

They sat in silence, Josh drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and Tyler attempting to get his breathing under control.

When he finally sat back with a sigh, Josh’s hand left the steering wheel and instead found Tyler’s thigh, the spot Stu had touched.

With a hitch of breath, Tyler jerked forward and clapped his hands over Josh’s, keeping it there, erasing those gross bony fingers and replacing them with Josh’s solid palm, pressing down, down, almost hard enough to hurt. But that was fine by Tyler - make it hurt. As long as it wasn’t Stuart Solo in this car with him. As long as it was Josh.

“Have you eaten?” Josh asked, rolling the car forward slowly.

Tyler shook his head, fingers scrabbling on top of Josh’s, and Josh peeled out of the parking lot.

-

The lady at the front desk asked Josh for an autograph. He told her no and when she continued to pester him he glanced at Tyler and asked to see her manager.

Flustered, the woman apologized and seated them at a booth in the very back of the restaurant. The manager never came, but Josh didn’t seem to mind.

He ushered Tyler into the booth with a warm hand at the small of his back and, instead of sitting across from him, slid in beside him.

They sat well enough apart for the first half of the meal and Josh ordered for both of them while Tyler stared blankly at the pristine white tablecloth, still feeling ~~Stu’s~~ Josh’s hand on his thigh.

Their drinks came and Tyler stared longingly at the glass of lemonade Josh had ordered for him. After taking a sip of his water, Josh grabbed the lemonade and held the straw to Tyler’s mouth. “Please,” he said in a hushed voice.

Tyler took the glass and drank.

He didn’t hear what Josh ordered for him, but when the food arrived and their waiter sat a steaming plate of shrimp scampi in front of him, Tyler’s stomach grumbled. For the first time in the better part of an hour, Tyler spoke, his voice scratchy. “How’d you know this was my favorite?”

“You bring leftovers to the gym almost every day for lunch,” Josh explained, digging into his own meal - some kind of grilled chicken and veggies.

This was true - Tyler frequently went to his parents’ for dinner and his mom always packed him the rest of the shrimp scampi in a Tupperware container for him to take for lunch throughout the week. He hadn’t realized Josh noticed.

While they ate, Tyler watched Josh, watched his throat working and the way he favored one side of his mouth - the side that didn’t hold the tooth that was coming loose.

Tyler ate everything off of his plate and some of what Josh didn’t finish of his.

They had moved closer together throughout the meal and when Josh brushed a hand down along Tyler’s side Tyler shivered convulsively.

“You could use some dessert,” Josh told him.

He ordered the sample platter and told the waiter to take his time.

When he turned to Tyler and said, “I need you at this fight,” Tyler dared to reach out and take Josh’s hand, place it on his thigh once more, burning a hole right through the fabric. Josh didn’t stop him.

“I need you at this fight,” he repeated, thicker, “but I want you to stay away from him.”

Tyler hooked his elbow around Josh’s arm and tried to shake the last of Stuart Solo from his mind. His voice was a little stronger this time. “That’s gonna be kind of hard.”

Josh shook his head. “I’ll tell Mark to keep an eye out. Hell, I’ll tell the officials I want him in the locker room the whole time. He won’t come near you.”

“Josh, it’s…” It was what, though? Fine? It most certainly wasn’t fine. He was the most shaken up he could ever remember being, including his first day at the gym, when he hadn’t known what the hell he was doing and was just getting his footing. “…thank you.”

Josh gave a little hum and Tyler could feel it where he was wrapped around Josh’s arm. He laid his head against Josh’s bicep and just breathed for a minute.

“I also want you to go on a date with me.”

Saliva caught in Tyler’s throat and he coughed, all over Josh’s elbow. “Y-You mean because you want Stu to think we’re dating.”

Josh didn’t look amused, but he also didn’t look upset. “No. Because I want to go on a date with you.”

“Oh.”

“Will you?”

Their dessert came and Tyler stuffed himself full instead of answering Josh’s question.

Josh’s hand never left his thigh, though, until after he paid (Tyler protesting to at least let him pay half) and they were out in the parking lot.

“Where do you live?” Josh asked, opening the driver side door.

Tyler laid trembling fingers on the door handle of the passenger side. “This could have technically been considered a date, you know. You took me out and paid. We even sat on the same side of the table.”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

That meant more to Tyler than he could ever even say. “I’ll go. On a date. With you.”

Over the top of his car, Josh’s mouth stretched into such a wide grin that his lip started bleeding again. “Good.”

Tyler got in the car and let Josh take him home.

-

Another week followed. One in which Tyler steadily regained the ground he’d lost with Stuart Solo. He got back to himself and was able to forget the whole thing. Almost.

When he couldn’t, Josh was there. Tyler started staying later to train with Josh after Mark went home, Josh sat back and let him do his daily examination without complaint, and they went on their date.

The restaurant from last time had been fancy, but Josh took him to an even nicer place this time. A place with a deep maroon carpet and low piano music playing from somewhere you couldn’t see. Candles on all the tables.

Tyler got tipsy on wine and tripped walking out the door. Josh caught him before he could face plant on the sidewalk, a hand pressed hard to Tyler’s chest.

“My knight in shining armor,” Tyler giggled, face flushed from the wine and the feeling of Josh pressed so close to him.

They had taken a taxi to dinner so they could walk home in the frigid air, enjoying the Christmas lights and the fine snow that started to fall.

“Jesus, this is fucking romantic.” Tyler turned his face up toward Josh’s for a kiss.

And Josh gave it to him, after pulling him into an alleyway and muscling him up against a cold brick wall.

His hands were hot on Tyler’s neck, burning a trail down his torso and fisting Tyler’s dick.

Tyler’s head lolled, cheek stinging where it pressed to the wall behind him. He was palming at Josh’s shoulders, his chest, anywhere he could reach.

“Is this okay?” Josh muttered, and when Tyler shivered it wasn’t from the cold.

“Yeahyeahyeah,” he breathed, and then “ _yeah_ ,” voice breaking as he came between them with Josh’s lips on his neck and his hands in Josh’s hair.

Josh kissed him again, sweeter this time, tucked him back into his pants and gave Tyler’s hips a squeeze with his big hands.

Tyler, breathless, couldn’t stop touching Josh, sliding the flats of his palms down the back of Josh’s neck, tugging the hems of his clothing between his stubby fingernails.

When Josh stilled his hands and started to lead him back onto the street by one, Tyler whined and planted his feet. “You aren’t gonna let me do you?”

Josh gave him a wolfish smile. “I just wanted you to last for later when I fuck you into the mattress.”

-

The day of the fight, Tyler was at the gym before Josh for once in his life.

He was there before anyone, actually, turning the show lights on and breathing in the acrid smell of cleaning product from the night before. He wrung a towel in his hands and stared at the alabaster white of the ring floor, illuminated as if by a halo.

In just a few hours, Josh Dun would be standing victorious in the middle of that ring. Maybe spitting a few broken teeth out, definitely covered in bruises. But he would win. Of this, Tyler was sure.

He set about arranging the chairs for the crowd, opening the concession window, and anything else he felt fit to do with his still-minimal knowledge of the way the gym worked. Hired as a physical therapist/quasi-doctor, he didn’t want to overstep too many boundaries.

When Josh entered an hour later, he stopped in the locker room doorway and stared at Tyler, rummaging through his supplies.

“Well, well, well,” Tyler grinned. “Look who’s late.”

Josh gave a bemused smile and brandished something - a piece of paper - at Tyler. He came forward and dropped it onto Tyler’s lap.

It looked like it had been ripped haphazardly from a magazine. And when Tyler looked closer, he realized that was exactly what had happened - it was a picture of Josh and Tyler from the night of their date, torn straight out of one of the most popular tabloid magazines in Columbus.

Tyler rubbed his thumb over the wrinkled photo - he and Josh on the front street after their little alleyway debacle, wrapped around each other like two lovesick high schoolers - and glanced up at Josh, ready to apologize. But Josh didn’t look upset. On the contrary, that same bemused smile was still on his face.

“Keep that,” he told Tyler. “The title of the article was Josh Dun Finally Finds Love?”

With a rather large lump in his throat, Tyler bent to slide the picture into his bag, between a bottle of water and a first aid kit.

Josh sat beside him and when Tyler straightened up Josh kissed him on the mouth.

Tyler’s hand came to Josh’s shoulder and he flicked his fingers against the side of Josh’s neck. He let out a shuddering breath. “You remember everything we practiced?”

A few days ago Tyler, Josh, and Mark, as well as Josh’s manager, had come to the conclusion that Stuart Solo was the one pulling the strings on Team Sullivan, instructing Wyatt to play as dirty as he could in order to win. There was nothing they could do about that, except study match tape after match tape and skew Josh’s fighting style accordingly.

Josh nodded, fingers catching on Tyler’s thigh. “Yes. And you stay away from Stu, right?”

“As best I can.”

“I mean it, Tyler.” Josh’s grip tightened on his leg. “You see him, you go fucking running the other way.”

Tyler smiled crookedly. “You don’t want me to try and fight him?”

“You leave that to me,” Josh said as he curled a hand around the back of Tyler’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. His words were light, but the expression on his face was not.

“You’ll win,” Tyler told him, sure of himself.

“I think you’re right.”

-

Wyatt Sullivan shook hands with Josh Dun in the middle of the enlightened ring with the soft roar of the crowd around them. He was smiling.

Tyler couldn’t help but smirk himself - Sullivan was just a big Golden Retriever, slathering away at the beck and call of his master, Stuart Solo. Whom Tyler didn’t see anywhere when he scanned the outer edges of the darkened ring.

Maybe the ringleader had stayed home.

He was going to remark about this to Mark, but then the first bell was ringing and the contestants were sent back to their corners. Mark hopped up almost gracefully, fisting the ropes and talking rapidly into Josh’s ear. On the other side of the ring, Sullivan’s trainer was doing the same.

Tyler stood wringing the same towel from before, hoping his boyfriend wasn’t about to get clobbered to death by The Hulk.

A second bell sent Josh and Sullivan back to the middle of the ring and a third started the fight.

Tyler had never seen Josh as quick as he was tonight. Swift, lithe, knocking Sullivan’s fists aside and diving in for his own jabs before swirling back out.

Speed was what they had agreed should be Josh’s main weapon - Sullivan couldn’t possibly fight dirty if there was nothing for him to hit. Of course, as the night wore on Josh would tire and become slower, but hopefully by then Sullivan himself would be worn out and Josh could end it with a swift right hook and maybe even a KO.

Late in the fourth round, Josh ducked the wrong way and caught Sullivan’s mitt in his left eye. He spun and tottered for just a moment before stumbling back to his chair and sinking down.

Tyler scrambled up and into the ring, pressing his now-damp towel to Josh’s forehead, gently down the side of his face. Josh’s eyes were unfocused and the crowd was getting restless already. Tyler wanted to yell at them to shut the fuck up, but doubted anyone would be able to hear him over the ruckus anyway.

“Joshie,” he said quietly, meant just for them. “You good?”

“Mm,” was Josh’s reply, and he took the bottle of water Mark offered him, threw it in his own face to wake himself up. As he stood once more, dripping wet, he shoved Tyler aside and Tyler was reminded of that day he’d rebounded off the ropes with a slight sting in his shoulders.

He pressed his lips together and slid from the ring as the bell clanged once more.

By the eighth round, Sullivan was swaying, just barely defending against the barrage of Josh’s fists and certainly not on the offensive anymore.

Tyler thought this must be it - in just a few moments Josh would win and keep his streak going and -

And then what? There was always another fight, always more bruises and contusions and twisted ankles. Josh was a boxer - he’d always be fighting.

Amidst these thoughts time slowed. Tyler looked at his hands, largely unmarred save for a few childhood scars, and thought about Josh’s. Bruised and bandaged and iced every night. Swollen most of the time, stiff when Josh woke up in the morning.

He looked up just in time to see a glint in Sullivan’s eyes as time sped back up.

“Josh, watch-“

But it was too late - Sullivan’s tired act had been just that, an act, and the force with which he slugged Josh in the jaw sent Josh careening backward, his mouthguard flying, followed by a bullet of blood and his loose tooth.

Josh was down, arms splayed with plasma pooling under his open mouth where he lay facedown in the ring.

“Josh!” Tyler made to pull himself up, but Mark hauled him back with both arms around Tyler’s waist.

“You go in there and he forfeits the match!”

Tyler dug his nails into Mark’s forearms. “What the fuck are you talking about? He’s-“

But Josh wasn’t down for good it seemed. With a twitch of his upper lip, Josh’s eyes blinked open and he planted first one glove on the messy floor of the ring and then the other, ever so slowly lifting himself out of the puddle of his own blood. It continued to drip from between his lips as he hovered on his knees between standing and sitting.

With one last heave he was all the way up, stumbling to the chair in his corner.

The bell rang and Tyler kicked his way from Mark’s embrace, practically diving under the ropes and crouching beside Josh. His chest was streaked with blood, his eyes barely open, arms hanging limply by his sides.

More blood poured from the hole where his tooth had been.

Tyler cradled the back of his head with a whimper, fingers gentle on his jaw.

“Can you drink?” Mark asked, ready with another bottle of water.

By way of an answer, Josh knocked his hand away.

“He needs antiseptic,” Tyler said, voice unsteady. “I don’t have any here. It’s back in my bag, in the locker room.”

Mark glanced at the giant analogue clock on the wall. “Get it. We have five minutes before he has to forfeit.”

Tyler couldn’t believe Mark was talking about Josh still fighting, not after this. Not with blood dribbling down his chin and his eyes half-lidded. But he didn’t answer because either way he’d be back in two minutes with what he needed.

With the crowd set up around the ring, the quickest way into the locker room was the back hallway. He had to pick his way through drunk fans in the aisle, shoes crunching on popcorn kernels he’d have to sweep up later, slip sliding in puddles of spilled beer.

The back hallway was dim, with training mats stacked up against the wall to his left.

As he sprinted toward the locker room, someone stepped out from behind the mats and made Tyler nearly lose his footing.

“Sorry,” Tyler had the patience to say, Josh’s bloody mouth playing on a projector in the back of his mind, and he glanced down to step around the person.

But they blocked his way. Tyler looked back up to grin and make a little joke - _well, isn’t this awkward_ \- but the hallway seemed suddenly hotter, stuffier, darker.

Because the person blocking his way was Stuart Solo.

A dirty little grin played itself across his face and in Tyler’s surprise Stuart was able to step him back a few paces. “Tyler.”

Tyler exhaled a long breath over his chapped lips. “Listen, I-“

“Did you think that picture in the paper would bother me? Or did you think I wouldn’t see it?”

“W-What?”

“The _picture_ ,” Stu punctuated with his fingers clamped around Tyler’s arm. “The one circling around the tabloids. You’re _mine_.”

Tyler, poised just below the point of panic, made a promise to himself in his head. “You can have me,” he told Stu through gritted teeth, “just please let me get to the locker room. Josh is hurt, I need-“

“Oh, is he?” Stu let out a loud peal of laughter. “How nice for him. And for us.”

There was a sick feeling in Tyler’s stomach and his legs were starting to shake. “You’re hurting me,” he said pathetically, fingers trying to pry themselves under Stu’s hand.

With a growl, Stu pushed hard against Tyler’s arm, wrenching it behind and to the side, and Tyler had no choice but to step backward. His heel caught on the carpet and he fell back, hitting his head on the wall and crying out.

“Shut the fuck up,” Stu hissed, free hand clamping itself down over Tyler’s mouth. “I thought you liked it rough anyway.”

Dizzy and shaking like a leaf, Tyler tried biting at Stu’s fingers, clawing at his face, but Stu caught him at every turn.

So Tyler lighted on the one thing Josh once told him was completely frowned upon in the boxing community. He swung his leg up into Stu’s crotch.

Stu went down with a howl and Tyler stood slumped against the wall for a moment, unsure whether to run back out to the ring and tell someone what had happened or to continue to the locker room for his things.

He couldn’t have very long now that Stu had waylaid him. Josh would either be forced to forfeit the match or he’d get an infection in his gums and lose all his teeth.

The decision was an easy one.

Staggering away from the wall and Stuart Solo clutching his balls on the floor, Tyler made his way to the locker room seeing stars.

His vision was fuzzy but returning to normal as he dug through his bag, grabbing his first aid kit and the large bottle of antiseptic. He still swayed when he stood up too fast, however, and tried to think how long it had been since he left the ring.

A roar went up from the crowd and he tried not to think about what that meant.

Breathing heavily, he went to the door and came face to face with Stuart Solo once more.

He groaned and shook his head, arms ladened with his supplies. “Leave me alone. I did nothing to you.”

“Wrong,” Stu growled, limping forward. “Flashing those little fuck me eyes at me the first time we met. I know you want me. Why are you trying to fight it? Unless you’re into that.”

Tyler didn’t have time to think about what exactly ‘that’ meant before Stu was grabbing his arm once more. Tyler dropped the first aid kit, which bounced open and spilled its contents onto the locker room floor.

Tyler thought of Josh, of the way he punched his opponents so effortlessly, of how he was able to stand in the middle of the ring after every match and raise his arms, of how Josh was currently bleeding profusely and sitting limp in his corner of the ring waiting for Tyler to come and take care of him.

Except when Tyler swung his fist at Stuart Solo’s head, he wasn’t wearing a glove. And he was also clutching a rather large, mostly full bottle of antiseptic.

Stu let out a gasp like a balloon deflating and fell to the floor unconscious, taking Tyler with him.

There were footsteps in the hall and Josh emerged in the doorway, looking quite different than when Tyler had last seen him. For one, he was now fully alert. For another, he was clean of any and all blood, save for a dab that had dried just at the corner of his mouth.

And he was wearing the red and black championship robe.

“Tyler.”

Josh was next to him then and Tyler was reaching a weak hand out to him, making a fist in the silky robe he was wearing. But Josh wasn’t bothering with him yet, instead taking Stu by both arms and hauling him bodily up, shaking him until he was conscious again.

In his ascent, Tyler forgot to open his fist and he pulled the robe from Josh’s shoulders.

“Stuart Solo, look at me, you little prick.”

Stu had seemed rather menacing to Tyler just a moment ago. Next to Josh, he looked like a rag doll. Tyler smiled hazily.

Stu’s eyes were opening steadily, and as he glanced around he began to struggle against Josh’s hold, panicky.

“Hey.” Josh held his head still with a strong hand around his jaw, fingers digging into Stu’s cheeks and making them puff up. “If I find out you hurt him you’re done for. Now get out of here. And don’t ever come back to my gym again.”

When Josh released Stu, he did so all at once. Stu fell to the floor again and clambered up, lurching from the room without so much as another glance in Tyler’s direction.

Tyler’s eyes slipped closed and opened again to Josh crouching beside him, an arm around his waist and a hand skimming at his cheek. “What happened, Tyler? Did he hurt you?”

“Hit my head.” Tyler began to cry and put an arm over his face so Josh wouldn’t see him doing it.

Josh shushed him and asked if he could stand. Tyler said he would try and was eventually able to with Josh mostly supporting him.

Josh leaned him back gently against the nearest row of lockers.

“You won,” Tyler mumbled, standing on the tile floor of the locker room with the black robe in his hands.

“I won.” Josh nodded, passed a hand through Tyler’s hair and felt around for any knots.

“How?”

“The way you guys told me to. I was fast.”

Tyler shook his head, but doing so made him want to throw up. He scowled and swallowed thickly. “ _How?_ ”

“Sullivan told his aid to lend us some antiseptic. Mark got me cleaned up and back in the fight.” He paused, stroking the pads of his fingers over the side of Tyler’s face. “Would you believe me if I said I knew something was wrong?”

“Only because I was gone for so long.”

Josh barely even chuckled, lips raising just enough so that Tyler could see the hole in the side of his mouth, straight through to the back of his throat. “You’re the medical professional, Mr. Joseph. You think you have a concussion?”

“No. Just really fucking dizzy.”

Josh led him to a bench and sat him down. Out in the hallway, he could hear voices.

“What’re you gonna do to him?” Tyler asked, pressed bodily to Josh’s side.

“Who? Solo?” Tyler nodded. “Just ruin his career.”

Tyler reached for Josh’s hand, pulled it to cover his thigh. “What’re you gonna do with me?”

“I’m gonna take you home. And I’m gonna take care of _you_ for once.”

**Author's Note:**

> always taking requests over at my [tumblr](http://vintagetyler.tumblr.com/).


End file.
